


One of Those Nights

by SummerBerrySpaceman



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, M/M, Sal deserves the world and so does Larry, Self-Harm, i love them to bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 12:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17304857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerBerrySpaceman/pseuds/SummerBerrySpaceman
Summary: After a particularly bad panic attack, Sally seeks comfort in his best friend.Can be taken as a relationship or just friends :) please read the tags and be safe!





	One of Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Again, quick trigger warning -- some scenes of self-harm and anxiety in this! Stay safe and enjoy <3

Sal hated when his dad drank. It wasn't like he did anything bad to him, but the sight of his father, drunk out of his mind, affected Sal. There were nights that he'd have to lead his dad to bed, times he had to comfort him, clean up after him, and times where Sal needed him and he was far too gone to help.

 

This was one of those nights.

 

It had been a particularly rough day and though Sal was strong, he still had his moments where he crumbled. He tried to hang out with Larry and the gang to cheer up, but nothing seemed to help. He knew it would be a bad night.

 

When he got home, he had a small hope that maybe his dad would be up for talking. That hope was shattered by the stench of alcohol when he got inside the apartment. He didn't say anything to his father, simply went to his room and curled up under his blankets, sighing heavily. He didn't even bother taking off his mask, too exhausted to.

 

But when sleep took him, it was just filled with the nightmares. All day, he'd been thinking about his mother, how ugly he felt, how everything was his fault and now, even sleeping wasn't safe. His mother, standing and helping him do homework, then he blinked and she was six feet under. Another blink, and there was the gruesome scene of her death. 

 

He awoke with a start, gasping for air as he fought back tears. He hated crying over nightmares -- he felt like a baby. It felt like the straw that broke the camel's back though, and he felt an insatiable urge in his gut, an itch in his arm that couldn't be scratched with nails.

 

He stood, taking his prosthetic off and tossing it onto his bed, heading to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, going to the sink and feeling underneath for the sharp blade he kept taped there. He stripped his shirt off, looking down at the band-aids that littered his arms. He felt sick -- who DOES this to themselves? He'd never let anyone know either. He was too ashamed.

 

He stared down at the scars, both faded and new, along his skin and reconsidered for a moment. The itch returned though, and he resigned himself to this, pressing the blade into his skin and pulling.

 

He didn't feel the initial sting, too out of it. The second swipe though, he winced a bit. He let out a shaky breath, reminding himself that he deserved it. Pain was the only constant companion to him.

 

After a few more swipes, he felt the tears finally fall from his eyes. It wasn't fair -- he just wanted to be a normal kid without anyone making fun of him and have a normal family with his sober dad and beautiful mom. He looked in the mirror, shaking his head. Instead, he was stuck with this mess of a “face” and a dad that didn't know if his son was alive or dead most of the time.

 

He reached a hand up to run his fingers along the deep scars in his face. He hated them -- the constant reminders of how he fucked up. He felt the self-hatred rise in his throat like bile, and before he knew it, he was hyperventilating, completely overwhelmed with his own dark thoughts.

 

He thought about slashing himself up more to calm down, but his state of mind was shaky. He instead found his free hand gripping his long, blue locks as the hand with the razor swiped at it furiously. With each swipe he felt more and more hair fall into the sink, into the floor, but he didn't care. Right now, nothing mattered. He wanted to be someone else, anyone else, and the image in the mirror didn’t look right to him. He wanted a real face, he wanted to look like a person, but he always stuck out. His prosthetic, his blue hair, everything just screamed  _ look at me! _

 

He just wanted to be a normal guy with a normal life. 

 

When he couldn’t grip anymore of his hair, he let the razor drop in the sink as he covered his face, muffling his cries so his father wouldn’t hear (as if he’d hear anyways). After a while, he finally caught his breath, calming down as much as he could. He opened his eyes, blinking at the mixture of blood and hair around his feet. His eyes trailed to the mirror, fresh tears springing in his eyes as he gently pulled at what was left of his hair. He hadn’t had it short since he was really young, and seeing it that short felt wrong. It reminded him of when his mother would comb her fingers through his hair, telling him how long it was getting.

 

He cursed under his breath at himself, starting to clean up the bathroom. How dumb could he be? One glance at his shredded arm told him the answer -- very. He finished cleaning up, throwing a few bandages on his arm before leaving the bathroom, going back to his room.

 

Once he was there, he realized sleep was out of the question. He looked at the time, sighing as he decided he didn’t want to be alone. He was afraid he’d do something stupider if he were alone. He grabbed his walkie talkie, clearing his throat to try and make it sound like he hadn’t spent the last hour and a half crying before hitting the button.

 

“Larry Face? You up?” he asked, searching his drawers for a hat. He found one, plopping it on the messy hair as he heard Larry’s familiar voice buzz through.

 

“Of course. Nightmare?” he asked. Sal sighed, Larry knew him all too well.

 

“Yeah. Alright if I come down?” he asked, grabbing his jacket and sliding it on. After confirmation from the other side, he grabbed his prosthetic and headed out to the elevator. The ride down felt too long, too silent. His brain buzzed and he hummed to drown out the silence. Sometimes the silence was the loudest sound.

 

He stepped out as he got to the basement, going to Larry’s door. He gently knocked, in case Lisa was asleep. He’d hate to wake her up with his bullshit. Thankfully, Larry opened the door, letting him in. He was talking, but Sal couldn’t hear the words. He nodded along to whatever he was saying as Larry led him to the room.

 

Once they were there and the door was closed, Larry chuckled, “What? Trying out a new hairstyle with the hat, Sally Face?” he asked, leaning on the door. Sal felt his cheeks glow as he shrugged, “Yeah. Why, look bad?” he asked, pulling the hat down further. Larry shrugged, “It’s fine, but how’d the rest of your hair fit under that? You have like, the thickest hair out of all of us!” he said lightheartedly.

 

It was a breaking point for Sal though. He glanced away silently as he felt his eyes well up again, burning from the previous tears shed. “Used to…” he said quietly, reaching up to slide the hat off, revealing the mess of locks. Larry blinked, “I… Why?” he asked in shock, going to him to look at the damage. Sal gripped the edge of his own shirt hard, trying to still the shaking, “I-I don’t know, I just… I wasn’t thinking and… and now all my fucking hair is gone and I’m uglier than before!” he yelled, sliding his hands under his prosthetic to cover his eyes and muffle his crying. It wasn’t the first time Larry had seen him cry, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he still felt embarrassed.

 

Larry gently pulled the smaller boy into a tight hug, patting his back, “Sal, it’s okay… you weren’t ugly in the first place…” he said, though he knew it fell on deaf ears. He led him over to the bed, sitting them down and pulling Sal close. He knew in these situations, it was best to let Sal cry it out. He glanced over his blue hair, rubbing Sal’s back gently. His mom could fix it up, he was sure of it. He murmured soft reassurances as Sal’s crying calmed down and after a while, he sat up, sniffing.

 

“S-Sorry Larry Face…” he said, wiping the remainder of the tears away. Larry shook his head, “It’s always okay, Sal. You know that…” he said, smiling. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to press about the hat or anything…” he added.

 

Sal shook his head, “It was my own stupidity anyways…” he said, sighing. Larry frowned, then patted his shoulder, “Why not spend the night? I’ll be right here if you need anything. We’ll play Just Dance or something and cheer up. How bout it?” he smiled. Sal thought for a moment, then nodded, “Yeah, sure… that sounds nice…” he said, feeling himself smile a little.

 

Larry grinned, standing. “Want a shower or anything? I can get us some snacks and set things up?” he said, and Sal nodded. His face felt snotty and gross from all the crying and it’d feel nice to clean up. Larry watched him go, then went to grab some snacks from the kitchen and get the game set up and ready to go for when Sal came back.

 

He sat on his bed to wait, a wave of sadness washing over him when he heard Sal’s muffled crying in the shower. He wondered why his hair affected him so much, but he also realized that it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was hurting him.

 

Larry blinked, standing when an idea came to him. He heard the shower turn off and knew he had to act fast.

 

When Sal came back into the room, he looked around in confusion. “Larry?” he called quietly, tossing the towel in the dirty laundry as he sat on the bed, stealing some chips from the bowl that was sitting on the bed. He looked as Larry came back into the room, blinking.

 

His brown hair was cut short. It was as close to his head as scissors could get it. Sal stood, “Larry? What… Your hair..?” he asked, shocked.

 

Larry grinned, “Do you like it? I think I look a little silly…” he said, running his hand over the back, chuckling at how it felt. Sure, he loved his hair and sure, he’d wanted to grow it out a lot more, but he loved Sal more than his stupid hair. It would grow back out.

 

He watched Sal, nervous that he’d messed up in some way, but smiled as Sal hugged him tightly, burying his face in his chest, “Thank you Larry… Thank you so fucking much…” he said, his voice wavering, close to tears once again.

 

Larry rubbed his back softly, “Anything for you, Sally Face… Now come on, no more crying, ok? Let’s play your favorite game. Maybe some Guitar Hero after…” he said, “we can still headbang!” he added with a grin.

 

Sal felt himself smile, nodding. “Alright…” he said, drying the small tears that gathered in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t completely okay, but for now, he was happy.

 

That’s all that really mattered in the end he supposed.


End file.
